A Threat of Shadows

by JA Andrews

  “The real question is,” Ayda continued, “why did the wizard steal the Wellstone? I doubt he has a wife in a crystal box.”

  “Stay out of my head!” Alaric snapped.

  She skipped a little to keep up. “You think about Evangeline constantly.”

  Alaric stopped.

  Ayda stopped, too. “I don’t try to listen, you know, but sometimes you shout your thoughts at me. And your thoughts of Evangeline are usually so sad. Although sometimes they’re sweet. Like this.” Ayda reached out and touched Alaric’s arm.

  Alaric stood in the Napon market. The southern sun poured down on the awnings slung between booths, lighting the stalls in hues of reds and yellows. It was still too deep in summer, too stiflingly hot, for there to be many shoppers. The few vendors that bothered to open booths today called out lazily in deep, southern accents.

  Alaric set down another bottle of ink. Just a dark bluish black, like the others. The vendor called after him, dropping the price as he walked away, but Alaric gave him a smile and moved on. In the corner of the next booth sat a mismatched collection of little glass bottles filled with inks. Alaric held several up to the light to see their color. Behind him, he heard Evangeline ask a question.

  “Six coppers,” the vendor said. “Six coppers for the pretty flower bowl.”

  “Six?” Evangeline laughed. “Two coppers for the pretty flower bowl.”

  She was holding a small, clay bowl. The red clay formed an almost round bowl with a blue and yellow flower painted on the inside. It was a happy bowl, if not a high quality one. Two coppers was generous.

  The vendor shook his head. “Six coppers. Flower bowls are six coppers.”

  Alaric turned back to the inks, hoping to find a red.

  “Four coppers?” Evangeline’s voice was less certain now.

  “Six.” The vendor’s voice was firm.

  The last bottle Alaric held up to the light was dark blue. Red ink was too rare to find in a naponese tourist market, but it never hurt to check.

  He turned to find Evangeline behind him, smiling and holding the bowl. The pottery vendor flashed him a big smile, and Alaric put his arm around Evangeline’s shoulder as they walked away. Her shoulders quivered with little laughs.

  “You bought it?” The bowl was not even close to being round.

  She looked up at him ruefully. “He wouldn’t change his price.”

  Alaric laughed. “He didn’t need to.”

  “I know,” she laughed, “but shouldn’t he have at least pretended to bargain with me?”

  “He bargained very well.” Alaric held his hand out for the bowl. “I think you’re the one who didn’t really bargain.”

  She laughed and gave it to him. “It didn’t quite go as I had planned.”

  “Why didn’t you walk away?”

  “Because I like the bowl,” she said, considering the colors painted on it. “The flower reminds me of the sky and sunshine.”

  Alaric held the bowl out in front of them and squinted at it. “Well, I do see blue and yellow. What exactly does the brownish red clay remind you of?”

  “Someday,” she said, taking it back and admiring it, “it will remind me of a naponese market I visited with you. It will remind me how great Keepers are always rummaging through the things around them, looking for what they need—whether it’s knowledge or red ink. And it will remind me that maybe sometimes, it is better to stop rummaging and just ask someone.” With a flourish, she produced a small glass bottle.

  Alaric reached for it in astonishment. He held it up toward a ray of sunlight trickling through the fabric above them. The ink inside glowed like dark red wine. “This is perfect!”

  “You can repay me at dinner tonight. When they request a story from you, tell Tomkin and the Dragon. I love that one.”

  “I will.” Alaric kissed the top of her head. “I have the best wife.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do I want to know how much you paid for this?”

  She grinned. “No, you do not.”

  “I like that memory,” Ayda said. “You two are so happy.”

  Alaric yanked his hand away from Ayda. “Stay out of my head!”

  Ayda resumed walking. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  Alaric followed her, off guard. It was his own memory she had shown him. He was partly furious that she knew it, partly heartbroken because he and Evangeline had been happy. He watched Ayda walk ahead of him, settling on an emotion somewhere near irritation. “Can you read everyone’s mind as easily as you read mine?”

  Ayda crinkled her brow. “No, yours is the clearest. Maybe because it’s more… open? You could read my mind if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

  “I could try.”

  “Maybe that’s why, then. You’ve trained your mind to reach outside of itself, so to me, it’s open.”

  “Wasn’t Gustav’s mind open?”

  Ayda cringed. “No.” She paused. “Maybe that’s why I never thought he was a wizard. Even Brandson and Douglon occasionally shout their thoughts when they’re excited, but Gustav was always shut tight. I assumed he was just incredibly boring.”

  Alaric wished he knew how Gustav had done that. Add that to the list of questions he had for the wizard.

  “Maybe he wants the Wellstone for a different reason than you do.” Ayda said. “What else is in it?”

  “Records of Kordan’s work. He worked with seeds and…” Alaric reached for the ruby again, “he created a stone like this one. An emerald.”

  “Maybe the wizard is after that knowledge. Maybe he needs to bring someone back from the brink of death, like you do.”

  “Who would a Shade Seeker want to wake?”

  Ayda stopped walking and spun toward Alaric.

  Her eyes burned and her hair darkened until it was the deep red of a glowing coal. Waves of heat radiated from her, pushing Alaric back a step.

  Her hair lifted, blown by a wind Alaric couldn’t feel, and sparks whipped out from the ends. She clenched her fists, and Alaric took another step back.

  When she spoke, it was in a deadly whisper that shook the ground beneath his feet.

  “He’s going to wake Mallon.”

  Chapter 21

  Alaric stared at Ayda and took yet another step back. She seethed with fury, her eyes glinting with cold light.

  Wake Mallon?

  Mallon was dead.

  Ayda reached down, picked up a stick, and stared hard at it. She muttered angrily and began stalking up the hill.

  Alaric followed behind her, a fear stealing over him that he hadn’t felt in years. Was it possible that Mallon was still alive? He had disappeared and all signs of his power had ended. What could cause that aside from death?

  He opened his mouth twice to ask her a question, any of the questions he had, but each time, she shot him such a glare that he shut his mouth again.

  The stick in her hand shifted until it was a perfect likeness of Gustav’s face and pointy hat, with a distinctly idiotic expression.

  She hissed a vicious-sounding word and crushed the visage into her palm sending an explosion of splinters out from her tiny white hand.

  Alaric hung back a moment, letting her move up the hill away from him. He stared at the settling shards of wood then watched the elf warily as she continued toward the Stronghold.

  Ayda stopped and turned to wait for Alaric. He approached her with every sense alert, waiting for something terrifying to happen, but her hair was golden again and the fury had settled to the back of her eyes.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Oh.” Gustav or Mallon?

  Ayda looked straight into Alaric’s eyes, and he braced himself for… something. But she just smiled a humorless smile.

  “I like you, Alaric.” She gave an elfish lilt to his name that caught his attention. It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. With that word, something changed. The glow that surrounded Ayda
faded slightly, and she looked more concrete, more solid.

  “I’m going to kill that idiot wizard before he can wake Mallon. You can come with me, if you’d like.” Ayda turned and headed toward the Stronghold. “Bring whomever you’d like along,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  When they reached the others, the smell of roasting meat drifted out of the Stronghold along with echoes of laughter.

  “So much for killing each other,” Alaric said as they walked in.

  “She dragged King Horgoth out,” Patlon was saying, sitting next to the others by the fire, “by his beard!”

  Douglon howled with laughter and pounded on the floor. Brandson was doubled over, and Milly wiped her eyes.

  “Did he marry her?” Milly asked.

  Patlon nodded. “That evening.”

  Alaric cleared his throat, and Douglon waved him over.

  “Patlon, this is Keeper Alaric. He’s been traveling with us.”

  Patlon nodded his head in greeting.

  “And the elf is Ayda.”

  Patlon smiled at her. “My axe was blessed by an elf,” Patlon said, lifting up his purple-shafted axe for Ayda to see. “Do you know any purple-haired elves?”

  “Pella’s hair was purple once,” Ayda said, walking over to run her fingers along the purple wood. “It changed with the seasons.”

  “Her blessing did something to the wood, and it’s near unbreakable. Do you—” Patlon paused. “Do you think she’d remember me? It was many years ago.”

  Ayda looked at the axe for a long moment. “She remembers you. Elves don’t forget.”

  Patlon sat up straighter, throwing a smug look at Douglon.

  Ayda turned back to Douglon. “Speaking of not forgetting, aren’t we very angry with Patlon? I vividly remember a burned smithy.”

  “He’s offered to rebuild it,” Brandson said. “Twice as big and closer to the river.” The blacksmith grinned. “And he’s going to give me enough dwarfish rock steel to make five knives.”

  “One of which I get back,” Patlon added. “I didn’t mean to burn it down. I’ve been here for several weeks, hunting about near these rocks, but I just recently learned that Douglon was here. I went to confront him at the smithy, but I upended a bucket of ashes, and before I knew it, the whole place was ablaze.”

  “And so you stopped to carve a threatening symbol on a rock for us to find?” Alaric said.

  “I had made it already,” Patlon hedged, “and the damage was done. I figured I could at least make Douglon mad.”

  Douglon waved off the apologetic look from his cousin. “The rockslide has settled, cousin. No worries.”

  “You haven’t told me if you’ve had any luck with the treasure, though,” Patlon said.

  Douglon leaned forward. “We found it.”

  Patlon looked eagerly at the others for confirmation.

  “We almost found it,” Brandson said. “But it was stolen by someone we were searching with.”

  “You found the treasure, then someone you trusted stole it?” Patlon asked Douglon, deadpan. “How dreadful for you.”

  Douglon glared at him. “It was stolen by a powerful wizard.”

  Alaric raised his eyebrow. That was more credit than Douglon had ever given Gustav.

  “Then let’s go find him!” Patlon rose and hefted his purple axe. “Where would he go to sell it around here?”

  “We are not going to find him by wandering aimlessly,” Alaric broke in. “He’s a Shade Seeker.”

  Patlon looked around quickly. “You forgot to mention that.”

  “Well,” Douglon said, “If you knew him, you’d forget, too. He’s sort of bumbly.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that the bumbling was an act,” Alaric said.

  “I don’t know,” Brandson said. “He lived with us for months. It was very convincing.”

  “The only non-bumbly thing he did was steal the gem out from under us.” Douglon said.

  “And sic his dragon on us,” Ayda said.

  “He has a dragon?” Patlon asked, dropping back down onto the floor.

  “And he’s not going to sell the gem,” Alaric said. “He took it for a specific reason.”

  Everyone turned toward him except Ayda. She turned her back on them and looked out the door.

  “Ayda thinks he took it to raise Mallon,” Alaric said.

  The room went perfectly still.

  “Mallon?” said Milly faintly.

  “He stole a gem to raise the Rivor from the dead?” Douglon looked at Alaric as though he was joking. “Is he going to buy him back from the underworld?”

  Patlon chuckled. “I didn’t realize the dead were for sale.”

  “He’s not dead,” Ayda said, still facing the door, her back stiff.

  “Of course he’s dead,” scoffed Patlon. “Even the dwarves know the story of how he strode into the Greenwood to conquer you but your people destroyed him.”

  Ayda turned slowly from the wall and passed her gaze over each of them, ending with Patlon. Each one of them drew back at her expression. When she looked at Patlon, he wilted.

  “I was there when he was bound,” she continued, walking to Patlon and towering over him. Her face grew dark, and she seemed to stretch taller. “He is not dead,” she ended with a whisper.

  No one breathed for a moment.

  “Bound?” Alaric asked, finally.

  Ayda turned away from Patlon. “For lack of a better word. The Rivor can’t be killed or trapped like a mortal. He’s only connected loosely to his physical body. Not enough of him inhabits his body for hurting it to cause him any real harm.”

  The others exchanged puzzled looks.

  “How did your people bind him?” Alaric asked.

  “We made a net to catch him and drew it close around his body. Then we froze him there.”

  “In ice?” Patlon asked.

  Ayda gave a short laugh. “No, it’s not like he’s stuck in a crystal box.”

  Alaric scowled at her.

  “It’s almost impossible to stop a will that strong, but we set his mind on a path that leads back to itself. He is fighting to get out, but the route he is taking is circular. The hope is that he cannot escape.”

  “So that is why all of his spells ended?” Alaric said. “Because his will is confined to himself now?”

  Ayda nodded. “He could spread his will far from himself. He could attach it to a person and leave part of it there. It took my people a long time to figure out what he was doing. It was Prince Elryn who first detached one of Mallon’s spells from someone.

  “The spell needed somewhere to go, though, so it attached itself to Elryn. He was able to destroy it by transforming into a tree. This is where we got the idea of how to defeat him. We realized that if we could collect all of the spells and destroy them at once, there would be nothing left of Mallon outside of his own body. He would be mortal.

  “That is when I began to travel,” Ayda continued. “I visited every town I could find and marked any cursed people I found.”

  “Marked?” asked Douglon.

  “In a way another elf could find, yes. I was returning from the far south, but not yet home when the elves began. It was earlier than planned, but there was no doubt. I could feel elves, hundreds of them, stretching out toward the marked ones.” She looked far away and fell silent.

  “Did it work?” Milly asked timidly.

  Ayda blinked and looked around.

  “Yes, but the Rivor arrived too soon, and the battle began before they had destroyed all the spells. Mallon was gravely wounded… but at a terrible price.” Ayda turned back toward the wall. “All of my people were lost.”

  “No!” Milly said.

  Alaric listened, stunned. All of the elves were dead?

  The room was silent.

  Ayda sighed. “I was too late. When I got to my people, they had taken Mallon’s power onto themselves, but it was too much. My people were dead, and Mallon was senseless, but alive. I tried to kill him,
but nothing I could do harmed his body. He was trapped, but not defeated.”

  She took a deep breath and looked around. “I carried his body to the Elder Grove, an ancient place. It is surrounded by the oldest trees in the forest, which will let none but elves enter. It took a bit of convincing for the trees to let me take him there.” Ayda smiled sadly. “I left him there, secure in their deep magic, in the hopes of discovering a way to kill him.”

  Alaric realized he had been holding his breath and let it out. This was why no elves had been found in eight years. It wasn’t that they were being secretive. Ayda was the only one left to be found.

  Chapter 22

  A great loss swept through Alaric. He knew there had never been many elves in the Greenwood, but he couldn’t believe all but Ayda were gone.

  Patlon frowned. “You know, I had discounted them as rumors, but we’ve heard news that nomadic tribes have been gathering in the Scales.”

  Alaric turned sharply. “Do nomads usually come into the Scale Mountains?”

  “The last time was eight years ago when they joined with Mallon. I think those rumors need some investigating.” Patlon slapped Douglon on the shoulder. “Cousin, you’ll have to chase the single, solitary, old man by yourself. I need to go face hordes of vicious nomads.”

  Alaric nodded. “Tell King Horgoth to tell Queen Saren what the dwarves know.”

  Patlon raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell the High Dwarf what to do.”

  “Well, tell him I told you to,” Douglon grumbled. “Tell him to get off that ugly throne and start doing something useful.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow at Douglon’s brashness.

  Patlon winced. “It won’t be any better coming from you. In fact, it would be a lot worse. It’s going to take me a little time to smooth things over between you and Horgoth.”

  “Smooth what over?”

  “Your banishment,” Patlon said apologetically.

  “My what?”

  “Well, I might have mentioned to Horgoth that you stole the map from me.”

  “How does that get me banished?”

  “He thought that we had intended to bring him the treasure. He decided that you had stolen the map so you could keep the gem from him, and I couldn’t correct him without saying that neither of us had ever considered giving it to him.”